


Snowfall in Winterfell

by writingramblr



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, Episode Fix-it, F/M, Fix-It, One Shot, Season Finale, Spoilers, bless me i have sinned, callbacks, creepyship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 17:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A confession leads to a kiss...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>[we petyrxsansa shippers deserved this]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowfall in Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> HOW THE SCENE SHOULD HAVE GONE CAUSE IM BITTER.  
> also this is so terribly wish fulfillment i know im a sinner.  
> oops.  
> anything you recognize i transcribed from gifsets and i know i fucked up a few lines here and there.

As the snow falls around her, painting the grim world white, Sansa hears the crunch of footsteps, and she doesn’t have to look to know who it is.

Jon would not be so silent of mouth.

He speaks finally when he’s within a handful of steps to her.

“Every time I’m faced with a decision, I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action, I ask myself, will this help make this picture a reality? Pull it out of my mind? Into the world? I only act if the answer is yes.”

Sansa sighed heavily, and got to her feet, leaving behind the comforting tree, reluctantly.

“What is that?”

Her voice was small, words quiet, but only because she knew she had his ear, for every syllable, now, and for the rest of his life, as long as she deemed he could live it.

“A picture of you, on the Iron Throne, with me at your side.”

She’d barely stepped away from the tree, but he’d moved closer, faster than she could blink.

Months had passed and many horrors had happened, but the sense of familiarity still rose within her, stirring her memory.

Snowfall.

Petyr speaking sweet and harsh truths, and barely a few inches separating them.

He hadn’t yet reached out to touch her, and she wasn’t sure, suddenly, if she wanted to stop him anymore.

“It’s a pretty picture.”

She finally granted him the response he’d been waiting for, she could see as his chest heaved, and he breathed again.

Petyr licked his lips, and glanced down at the ground, before back to meet her eyes,

“News of this battle will spread quickly throughout the Seven, and I’ve declared for House Stark for all to hear.”

Sansa smiled sadly,

“You’ve declared for other Houses before, Lord Baelish, yet it’s never stopped you from serving yourself.”

She knew it annoyed, irked him even, to deny him the pleasure of his name from her lips.

She saw his eyes flash, and the tightening of his jaw.

Petyr would never hurt her, directly or indirectly again, so this was in and of itself, a small spiteful victory.

“The past is gone, for good. You can sit here, mourning it’s departure, or you could prepare for the future.”

He paused, and stepped in just close enough to make her consider retreating, but she would not, she was home, and nothing could scare her here.

She stood, tall, defiant, and she could see something softening in his gaze, and finally, he did reach for her.

The soft silver spotted fox of her coat’s trim. It was close enough to her face to be considered a tender gesture, yet far enough to keep him from actually being accused of invading her space.

He continued, and she realized she’d been holding her breath,

“You, my love, are the future of House Stark. Who should the North rally behind? A trueborn daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, born here at Winterfell? Or a motherless bastard, born in the South?”

His eyes were no longer on her own, they’d dropped, searing into the skin of her mouth, and she was at a loss.

For words, for protests, though the question tickled her mind, how did he know more about Jon than she did?

“Lord Baelish…”

She began carefully, but his hand moved, down, to grasp her upper arm, and he tightened his fingers just enough to make her feel it, and he pulled her impossibly closer, so that she was pressed against the front of his body.

Sure, dozens of layers separated them, but Sansa could almost imagine she felt the heat of his skin burning through them, igniting a strange fever that was making her lightheaded.

“Please, call me Petyr. It’s the name of the man who loves you.”

His other hand rose to cup her cheek, and she didn’t flinch, didn’t push him away, she just yielded, closing her eyes, trusting him with this.

His lips were cold, and hard at first, but pliant the instant she parted her own, and then she was reaching for him, not to stop him, but to fist his cloak and tug and ensure he wasn’t leaving nor letting her fall.

He was strong indeed, and she wondered if he could carry her if needed.

None of that mattered.

Her mind was afire, and swirling with so many impractical thoughts, picturing herself on the Iron throne as indeed he did, when she’d never desired to be queen other than in silly childhood fantasies.

Dreams of handsome princes and strong knights were no more than ashes drifting on the icy breeze surrounding them.

But…

She did have him.

He’d pledged himself, his army, his life even, to her.

He claimed to love her.

She knew it wasn’t at all what the typical definition of love was, or should be, but it was something.

She took a chance, and nipped at his bottom lip, before smiling in wicked delight.

He groaned, and broke the kiss to stare at her with something like the burning sort of fever she could still feel.

“Something of the Wolf in you…”

Sansa glanced away and over at the spot where she’d been sitting. It was covered in pure white.

“Perhaps. We should go…I’m expected at dinner.”

Petyr nodded,

“Of course. Allow me to escort you, my lady.”

Sansa lost the fight against the heat blossoming in her cheeks.

But luckily Jon just thought it was the cold.

She sat beside him, and Petyr retreated to nearly across the room, but she could still see him from where she sat.

As the clans pledged themselves to Jon, Petyr caught her eye, and smiled faintly.

She didn’t smile back, but she didn’t need to. She knew who the true ruler of the North would be.

Someday soon.

*


End file.
